


Hold On Tight

by deanlovescastielswormstache



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Death, M/M, Not Happy, combeferre and courfeyrac survive, not fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 00:46:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2290799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanlovescastielswormstache/pseuds/deanlovescastielswormstache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac wakes up on the barricade to find himself on the scene of a massacre. He desperately scans the room for the familiar auburn hair, the sturdy shoulders, the glasses. His eyes fall on a figure and his heart stops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold On Tight

**Author's Note:**

> I got a prompt on tumblr about courferre surviving the barricade and seeing Enjolras dead out of the window. Some of you are sick, sick people.

Courfeyrac came to with a groan, a pounding in his head and his mouth dry. He coughed, trying to get rid of the itch of thirst at the back of his throat. He ached everywhere. It took him a few moments to put the pieces together, the grapeshot, the running feet, the screams, the desperation so thick in the air you could choke on it. And now, unsettling silence niggled the back of Courfeyrac’s mind, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He cracked his eyes slowly, pulling his lashes apart. What he saw filled him with nausea. He was staring into a pool of blood. Now that he saw the blood, he felt the stickiness that surrounded him, smelled the overwhelming stench of death and tasted the slight tang of iron on his tongue.

 

Courfeyrac scrambled up in horror, moaning slightly as his aching muscles protested and wincing at the sharp pain coming from his left arm that made it hard for him to stand without support, casting the room dizzily through his vision. He saw bodies, bodies lying everywhere and Courfeyrac didn’t know where to turn, didn’t know where to look, where to begin to feel his grief. His breathing was coming quickly and he felt anxiety creeping up his back. Where the soldiers returning? It appeared that they thought he was dead; the bodies around him would serve to that affect.

 

Courfeyrac realized that he had tears running down his face, he tried to avoid looking at the bodies, tried desperately to breathe through his mouth, avoiding the stench. He looked around quickly, trying to gain stock of his situation. But his eyes fell upon a dead Joly, unseeing eyes that laughed no longer staring hopelessly at the ceiling, covered in blood that was probably not just his own, an image that was so completely wrong to Courfeyrac that he shut his eyes momentarily against the wave of bile that threatened to rise up his throat. He wanted to go over, to close his eyes, to give him his last respects, but he was shaking, he couldn’t move, his feet were glued to the floor and all he could do was stand sobbing in the middle of the room.

 

 _Combeferre_. Courfeyrac stopped crying suddenly, ice gripping his chest. He stood there breathing for a few seconds, trying to remember what he had last seen Combeferre doing, frantically wracking his brains as he desperately ran his hand through his hair, which was hard with dried blood. _Whose blood is it?_ He shoved the thought from his mind, urgently scanning the room for the familiar auburn hair, the sturdy shoulders, the glasses. His eyes fell on a figure and his heart stopped. He stumbled over, tripping over chairs and the occasional outstretched limb, but he didn’t allow himself to look anywhere but at that prone frame. He fell to his knees at Combeferre’s side and rolled him over.

 

“Combeferre? Combeferre? Oh, please, please answer me Ferre.” Courfeyrac could hear the raw desperation in his voice as he pleaded with Combeferre, with God, with Fate, with anyone who would listen. He held Combeferre’s wrist, feeling the slight flutter of life against his skin and prayed. He knew that he could do nothing for Combeferre, so he held him in his arms and appealed to any higher power he could think of for his life.

 

“Courfeyrac?” Combeferre’s voice was hoarse and scratchy, but it was the most heavenly thing that Courfeyrac had ever heard. Courfeyrac threw himself on Combeferre’s chest in relief, trying to hide his tears and reassure himself with the faint sound of Combeferre’s heartbeat. “What happened?”

 

“I don’t know Ferre, but I think they are all dead, Joly for sure, but I can’t look, I can’t bear it, I thought I had lost you. I love you, I love you, I love you.” Courfeyrac was babbling, trying to convey everything he was feeling, trying to stay calm, trying to think of where they would go from here.

 

“I love you too Courf, but focus ok? Where is Enjolras?” Combeferre was covered in blood, and Courfeyrac wasn’t sure if it was Combeferre’s or someone else’s, but he forced himself to focus on what Combeferre was saying.

 

“I don’t know, I haven’t seen him, but I doubt he’s alive Combeferre, they would be sure that the leader is dead.”

 

“I know,” Combeferre replied tightly. “Help me get up.” Courfeyrac helped Combeferre get his feet under him and held him close for a few seconds when they were both standing. Combeferre let him, knowing how emotionally taxing this was for Courfeyrac. Then he pulled away, searching the floor, his face hard as he fought his emotions. Combeferre clutched his arm and refused to look, knowing if he did he probably wouldn’t be able to leave.

 

“I don’t see him anywhere, do you think he’s outside?” Combeferre’s brow was wrinkled and his glasses were crooked and Courfeyrac was eternally grateful that he was beside him.

 

“Maybe. Combeferre, we need to go, the soldiers could be back at anytime.” Combeferre nodded, and allowed Courfeyrac to pull him out the door. He felt Combeferre stiffen as they surveyed the bloodstained and chaotic street. He followed Combeferre’s gaze, his heart in his throat.

 

Enjolras was hanging out of the window, his hand still gripping the red flag. Blood bloomed from his chest and his curls dangled limply towards the street. His face was fierce, but he had a peaceful curve to the mouth. It was done. Enjolras had his wish, dying for the people that he had loved so much. Courfeyrac let out a wail, turning to go back, to get Enjolras’ body, to say goodbye, but found Combeferre’s arm restraining him.

 

“We can’t Courfeyrac, the soldiers will be here soon, he’s already dead, we can’t do anything, we have to live and continue to work for justice and freedom as Enjolras would want us to do.” Combeferre’s voice was breaking, his eyes wet, but his face was a mask, his shoulders squared.

 

“Combeferre, he’s our best friend, we can’t just leave him here, just let me go see him.” Courfeyrac couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus, all he could see was that magnetic silhouette in his mind’s eye.

 

“We can’t, Courf.” Combeferre whispered it this time, his arms turning from restraints to caresses, pulling him close, shielding him from the horror that surrounded them on all sides. Courfeyrac slumped into his hold, unable to stop himself from replaying the last few moments in his head. He nodded slightly into Combeferre’s chest, his eyes downcast. “I know it’s hard Courf. I didn’t see Marius’ body at all. I think he has survived. We need to go home and take care of ourselves. Then we will find Marius and begin again. We will fight until this world is free.”

 

Courfeyrac nodded numbly again, and they began to walk down the cobblestoned street, arm in arm, supporting each other. Courfeyrac didn’t allow himself a second glance.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow my personal blog [here](http://deanlovescastielswormstache.tumblr.com) and my Les Mis blog [here](http://permets-tu-not-permettez-vous.tumblr.com).


End file.
